


The three musketeers... or the three boss ninjas. Either or.

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Humor, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-10
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 03:07:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint grinned, grabbing his bow off the coffee table. “Cool! Ninja prank-off!”</p>
<p>Coulson frowned, standing. “No, Clint, I don’t think that…” But it was too late; Clint was already running out of the room and towards Tony’s labs, a huge grin on his face. Coulson sighed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even...  
> Cracky as hell, especially in the last chapter.

_My apologies for any unprofessional conduct, Director Fury. NR_

 

“No, you are not!” Clint protested from the couch, eyes never moving from the TV as he contradicted the Russian Agent. Because,  _really._ He was _so_  a better ninja than she was.

“Really?” Natasha asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve been doing this job for longer than you, of course I’m better. I’m stealthier, more agile, twice as deadly… I’m your physical superior in every way.” She sniffed, looking at him disdainfully as he sprawled across the only sofa they'd been able to find on the SHIELD helicarrier. “And a lot better looking, too.”

“Hey--!” Clint started, but Coulson came in and cut him off.

“If we’re measuring ability by experience then I win hands down. I’ve got nearly ten years on you, Agent Romanoff,”  he told them, smiling slightly as he sat down in one of the armchairs and opened up a newspaper.

“But you’re hardly a ninja, Phil.” Clint shot back.

Coulson lowered the newspaper and looked coolly at he other man over it. He raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

“Fine,” Natasha replied calmly, putting a hand over Clint's mouth before he could do something _really_  stupid, like challenge Phil to three rounds in the gym. Not that that wouldn't be amusing, it was just that her idea was more... fun. “We’ll have a challenge, each of us seeing who can get the drop on each other without getting caught.”

Clint grinned, grabbing his bow off the coffee table. “Cool! Ninja prank-off!”

Coulson frowned, standing. “No, Clint, I don’t think that…” But it was too late; Clint was already running out of the room and towards Tony’s labs, a huge grin on his face. Coulson sighed. “I do hope that you realise exactly what you’ve just done, widow.” He chided Natasha, pinching his brow. He could feel a headache coming on, he was sure.

Natasha just smirked and stood up from her chair, walking towards Coulson. She stopped just in front of him and placed one fingertip on his chest, poking him. “I’ve just made this place a whole lot more interesting for the foreseeable future. Hope you’re good enough, Phil. You'll have to be to keep up.” And with that she turned and walked away.

Coulson flopped back down into the armchair and stared at the wall, wondering what the hell he’d just let himself in for.


	2. Chapter 2

_Sorry, Nicky. Couldn't resist it!  :D   TS_

 

Clint smirked, looking over Tony's shoulder at the plans for the first move in their new competition. "So they'll work, then?" he asked. 

Tony looked over at him, offense mingling with glee on his face. "I'm sorry, did I just switch faces with Justin Hammer? I'm _Tony Stark_! Of _course_  it'll work. All my tech works, you know that."

Clint frowned, pointing over at the blackened patch of lab floor a few meters away on the left. "So what was that then?"

Tony huffed indignantly, folding his arms. "For your information, that was _intended_ to blow up, Barton. Perfectly sound reasoning. I just don't think too well on no hours of sleep, so I decided to test it indoors." he rolled his eyes at Clint's look of incredulity. "Let me amend that to no hours of sleep for the past 72 hours. Ok?" Silence. "It was _raining_ outside! Nobody wants to blow things up in the rain!" Tony told him, trying hard not to laugh.

Clint rolled his eyes. "For someone who professes to be a genius, you are a complete idiot sometimes, Tony."

"And now you insult my intelligence, as well as my work! Remind me again why I agreed to this?" Tony huffed, folding his arms over his arc reactor.

Clint sighed. If he didn't somehow soothe his bruised ego, Stark would sulk for _hours_  before he relented and built the damn tech. "Ok, ok. I take it back. You're the most wonderful, intelligent, creative, _sensible_  genius ever. Now please will you build me these little beauties?"

Tony frowned. "Less of the sensible. You're making me feel like Steve here." he smirked, unfolding his arms. "Fine, I'll build them. But only because they're going to be absolutely _adorable_  when they're finished. Can I keep one?"

Clint laughed. "Sure, if any of them survive the wrath of Coulson and Natasha. And seriously, it might be a good idea to get some friends. Or even just a pet. You can't just keep building them, you know."

"Of course I can. You love me, don't you guys?" Silence filled the lab, and Tony rolled his eyes. "That's what happens when you don't give them speech synthesizers. Come on, JARVIS, you love me, don't you?"

" _Of course, Sir. Despite the fact that you insist on using my systems to watch back episodes of House [MD], and spy on--"_  

Tony pressed the button to mute JARVIS' voice with lightning speed. "I don't think that Clint needs to know about that, JARVIS. Now shut up, or I'll let you spend some time stuck in a toaster. A sentient toaster. God, that's a brilliant idea. I _need_ an intelligent toaster." he paused. "Anyway! See how you'd like _that!_ "

" _I'm afraid that you wouldn't last a week without me, sir. Especially without me controlling the suit's systems for you."_

Tony rolled his eyes. "Ok, ok. Point taken. Honestly, do you have to be such a drama queen?"

Clint cleared his throat. "Tony, three things. One: You're arguing with a computer that _you designed_ and complaining that it's _'acting like a drama queen'_ , and feeling lonely because some robots _without voices or feelings_ won't back you up that they love you. Not that there's any way to measure normal with you...

"Two: you're _meant_ to be building me some robots here. Ok? And Three; you're waving a blowtorch around, and it's _really_  starting to worry me!" The last sentence was delivered at a slightly higher pitch as the blowtorch was swung slightly closer to his face.

Tony looked down at the tool in his hand. "Oh... yeah." he smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. I should probably remember to sleep more often. And eat. Like, at all."

Clint laughed, partly in relief and partly at Tony. "I swear, one day you're just going to lock yourself in here and start giggling insanely over your robots. If the world gets taken over by these things, I'm blaming you. Who am I kidding, you'd probably have _suggested_  it to them. Theyre lovely creatures though." he added hastily, and Dummy, who'd been edging menacingly close to Clint - or at least as menacingly as a robot composed of an arm and some wheels can look - retreated, looking satisfied.

Clint took a step away from it. "Do you program vicious personalities into _all_ your robots, Tony?"

Tony looked up from the designs. "Huh? Oh, no. Dummy just doesn't _like_ you. Smarter than I give him credit for, that one. Even if he _is_  annoyingly handy with a fire extinguisher."

Clint didn't ask.

"Butterfingers thinks you're the bee's knees, though. Traitor." He muttered, then paused, looking back over at Clint. "What do you need these little cuties for, anyway?"

Clint grinned. "Wait and see." he promised.

 

~ AV ~ AV ~ AV ~

 

Coulson backed away from the seething mass of chittering electronics that was pouring out of the air vents, becoming a flood of robots that covered the floor and clambered over the walls. He grabbed a chair and attempted to push them back, away from him.

"Romanov, is this anything to do with you?!" He yelled over the comms as the robots edged towards him, beeping menacingly - or, again, as menacing as a foot long robot can be, which is quite a lot, considering that the number of them was in the hundreds - and clacking together their steel jaws.

"No, Sir, definitely not!" He heard Natasha yell over the comms. From the sound of it, she was having just as much trouble as he was. "Get out of my _hair,_ you little bastards!" she yelled, and Coulson winced. One of the robots made it past the chair and he stomped on it. It made a tiny, high pitched wail as the light died in its demonic little eyes, and its twitching tail went still.

Coulson found himself feeling vaguely guilty for a minute, before he shook himself and proceeded to smash as many of the little buggers as he could. Soon the room was full of flying pieces of metal and office stationary as he waged war on the little robots, taking a vicious pleasure in watching their hard drives snap in two. (because _hey_. If a man couldn't enjoy smashing these little robotic _bastards_ , what _could_ he enjoy?) He pulled a robot off his sleeve and hit it with a paperweight, then used it to hit another three into the wall.

He smiled as he heard exactly the same thing being done by Natasha over the comms, with jus as much gusto as he was.

Eventually the battered remnants of the robot army withdrew into the air vents, carrying their wounded with them towards Tony's labs for repairs. Coulson looked over at the vents contemplatively, then frowned. He took a deep breath in.

_"BARTON!!!"_

10 meters away, in one of the airvents, Clint giggled hysterically and crawled away as fast as he could, back to Tony's lab. He wondered if Stark had taken any pictures of Coulson's expression.

 

The next day Coulson had a tiny robot head as a paperweight and there was a new scoresheet on the helicarrier messageboard. It read:

Clint: 1

Coulson: 0

Natasha: 0

 

And in Tony's lab, about a hundred little robots surrounded him and crawled all over the place. Tony grinned. "JARVIS, send one of these to everybody I don't like. It's a long list, but I'm sure there'll be one for everyone. Oh, and take some photos of their faces while the thing's trashing their house!" he smiled at a robot that was chasing its own tail in circles. "I think I'll keep this one, it's cute." The thing fell over onto its back and made some noises of distress. "No, scratch that, it's _adorable_!"

JARVIS gave the electronic eqivalent of a sigh and started powering down all the other robots. " _Yes, Sir."_

 

_  
_

And _this_ is how I imagine the evil-robot-bug-things to look. Cute, right? I know that I want one...


	3. Chapter 3

_Sorry, Sir. Might happen again, might not. XD Natasha's fault in every way, though.  CB_

 

Natasha was seething. She spent three days following Clint through the ship unseen (because, lets face it, nothing could get clint to pay attention to much other than archery or food. Or both), trying to figure out a way to get back at him for his trick with the robots - they'd managed to get in her _hair_ for chrissakes - once and for all.

She'd already terrified Tony into repentance, threatening to destroy his bots piece by piece, then start on Tony. To be fair, he'd had no idea what Clint had been going to do with them, he'd just thought that they were cute (and someday she was _really_ going to have to have a talk with him about the unhealthy obsession with robots), so he'd built some.

It was when she'd seen Clint falling asleep in his little 'crow's nest' in the very top corner of the huge archery hall/firing range that Clint spent most of his time in that inspiration had struck. She had the perfect idea for getting her revenge. Nobody messes with Natasha Romanov and gets away with it. Nobody.

She went down to Tony's lab, sneaking through the doors. He was busy working on what appeared to be... a very complicated lawnmower? she hazarded, peering over his shoulder unnoticed. But surely that couldn't be _semtex_... could it? This _was_ Tony, after all. She found herself wondering exactly what kind of hazards venturing out into Tony's garden would pose, then realised that trying to understand the thoughts of Tony Stark was about seven steps down the road to madness, and gave up. She shook her head, still unnoticed, and tapped him on the shoulder.

Tony whirled around in panic, stumbling backwards into his work desk and trying to hide some plans behind his back. Natasha didn't ask. He relaxed when he saw who she was, releasing a sigh of relief (which, she had to admit, wasn't how most people reacted to seeing her)

"Thank god, it's just you," he told her, putting a small lawnmower component _very_ carefully onto the table. She raised an eyebrow, and he paled, swallowing. "Or... perhaps not?" he managed, clutching a robot to his chest protectively.

Natasha scowled at it. "Isn't that one of the monsters that attacked me?"

"No!" he paused. "Well, yes..." he stepped back quickly as she started towards it, a hard expression on her face. "Wait! I swear, it wasn't his fault, he was just doing what he was programmed to! I've reprogrammed him, he's a reformed robot. You can't dismantle him, he's got an AI, it'd be murder!"

She kept moving towards him, and he scrambled back, trying to keep the bot out of her reach. "I swear, he wasn't responsible for his actions, it was all Clint's fault!" His voice was hoarse and panicked as he tried to keep it away from her. "Please! Just leave Sherrinford alone!"

Natasha stopped and stared at Tony, her mind going blank for a second. "...Sherrinford." she said, her voice flat. Silence. " _Sherrinford_? You named your robot _Sherrinford_?"

Tony blinked, then frowned, defensive. "Yes. And? He looks like a Sherrinford to _me._ " She raised an eyebrow. "Anyway, it's a nice name. I like it."

Natasha shook her head in disbelief at the apparent 'genius'. "I really wonder about you sometimes, Stark." She mentally sighed. As fun as terrorising Stark was, she had better things to do. "Sherrin... the _bot_ can live if you give me some tech to help me with climbing. _Now._ "

Tony brightened up, put 'Sherrinford' down, and started rooting through drawers. "Sheer or rugged?" he asked.

"What?"

He straightened up. "The wall you'll be climbing. Is it sheer or rugged?"

"Oh. Sheer."

"And will stealth be necessary, or..." he asked absently, then looked up at her and grinned, in his element. "Oh, right. Sorry, forgot who I was talking to for a second. Stealthy it is." he took out several items and laid them on the table. "Right, we've got the _Hummingbird Z7_ wings - whisper silent, and they've got a battery that'll fly you twice around the world."

He pointed to the second item. "We've got the 'Velcro' gloves. And boots." he frowned. "Not _actual_ velcro, of course. That'd be crazy, even by my standards. And _rubbish_ for climbing. What they do is emit a -" he saw her expression and sighed. "Press one button, you stick to the wall like velcro. Press another, you unstick. Got it?

"Now, finally, we've got the 'spider' grapplers. They're based on that weird thing that Spiderman - stupid name, by the way - does with the webs. It shoots a stream of super-strong, super-sticky _stuff_ , which sticks to the wall of your choice. Then you winch it in. Any questions?"

Natasha thought for a moment, then took the velcro gloves and shoes off the table, aming a kick at 'Sherrinford', who skittered out of the way, beeping furiously.

Tony winced, scooping the robot into his arms protectively. "Is that all?" he asked meaningfully. The robot looked incredbly smug - quite a feat, considering that it had no facial muscles.

Natasha gave it a Look, then nodded. "For now," she told him, and walked out. Tony waited until she was completely gone before putting Sherrinford down.

"Jesus, Sherry, you weigh a tonne!" he told the bot, wiping the sweat off his forehead. "Man, she's scary." he turned to the bank of computer monitors. "Hey, JARVIS, I need something to cheer me up. Show me the footage of Justin Hammer's face when the robot I sent him trashed his kitchen!"

JARVIS brought up the video onto one of the holoscreens, a certain weariness in his tone. _"Yes, Sir."_

 

~ AV ~ AV ~ AV ~

 

The archery hall was pitch black and silent as Natasha crept slowly up the walls, towards her target, taking care not to trigger the motion sensitive lights. The only sounds were made by Clint, whose snores echoed around the hall. She shuddered, maing her way closer to hm. He didn't even stir as she came within arm's reach.

"S'd off, 'Tasha..." he mumbled blearily, shifting, and she froze. He went still again and she relaxed. Bringing out two lengths of cord, she attatched them to his feet as gently as she could, then secured them to one of the many iron rings sent in the ceiling for climbing practice. She drew back a little, then lunged forwards, shoving Clint as hard as she could.

 

Clint jolted awake with a yelp, and for a second he hung, balanced on the very edge of the platform, trying to regain his balance. It wasn't enough: he teetered backwards and fell.

"AAAARRRRGGHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

He flailed desperately as the ground rushed up to meet him, tensing up as he waited for the end...

BOING.

The bungee cords hooked to his feet catapulted him back up again, triggering the motion sensors, and he yelled out in surprise. He bounced around on the end of the ropes like a yoyo, feeling incredibly queasy at the movement. When it slowed down, he looked up at the ceiling and saw Natahsa climbing quickly down the walls, an evil smirk on her face.

"Natasha! You evil..." he paused, trying to modulate his tone. He might be stuck here unless he could persuade her to help him. "I mean... Natasha? _Please_ let me down." he tried.

"Some chance, Barton!" she called, touching down on the floor. "This is the funniest thing I've seen all week." She pulled out a camera. "Smile!" Clint glared as she snapped a few photographs, then stowed it in her pocket. "Next time, Clint, you'll know that you never fuck with Natasha Romanov and get away with it. Got it?" she walked away, a smirk on her face, then paused and turned. "I'll let Coulson know where you are, Clint. But he might not be particularly inclined to let you go, either." And with that she walked off.

 

Coulson did let him down, once he'd been told.

Eventually.

 

The newly updated scoresheet (Clint: 1 Coulson: 0 Natasha: 1) had a picture of Clint dangling upside down from the ceiling stuck next to it, along with a note that read:

_Let that be a warning to you all. NOBODY messes with the Black Widow and gets away with it. NR_

Nobody went within 5 meters of her all day, and Clint whimpered slightly every time he saw her for a week.

Coulson had a new spring in his step, and he kept giggling at random moments as he remebered Clint's face... He had a copy of the picture framed on his wall. In fact, he was in an altogether better mood than he had been in for a while.

At least, he was until what happened next...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint wanted revenge...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dedicated to my good friend IrisMoonstone on LJ. We spent quite a while giggling, and she gave me several ideas as to 'ninja pranks' they three could pull.  
> She also let me know when to shut up, which I am eternally grateful for.

_Direct Fury, I give my humblest apologies as a son of Asgard. I swear upon Mjolnir that it shall not happen.  TO_

 

Clint fumed, perched back up in his crow's nest platform (Natasha would  _not_  be venturing up here, on pain of death.  _Ever_. Anyway, he strapped himself in securely at night now - once bitten, twice shy, after all), clutching his precious bow and refusing to come down. Whatever Coulson and Natasha said, he was  _not_ sulking. Not at all. Definitely not. Clint wanted revenge.

Natasha was out as far as revenge went - he may be reckless, irresponsible and immature, but he wasn't _stupid_. Coulson, however... he'd spent nearly twenty minutes in hysterical laughter when he'd seen what Romanov had done to him, and Clint had nearly  _passed out_  because of all the blood running to his head before he'd been let down. No, Coulson was far from blameless.

Clint snuck into his room when he was sleeping (because this was a  _ninja_  prank-off, after all. Some actual  _ninja-_ ing was required, after all) in order to try and find inspiration as to what he could do to make him pay. Coulson, as it turned out, didn't have many personal belongings. He had some clothes, which were standard issue SHIELD suits; he had a few books on philosophy and (oddly) origami; and he had a  _lot_ of paperwork. And, under the bed, several boxes.

Clint eased them gently out from under the still sleeping Coulson as quietly as he could, interested as to what the agent could have hidden under his bed. Coulson slept on, unaware of the intruder. Clint opened up the first of the boxes and looked inside. It was full to the brim of Captain America merchandise, action figures, a lunchbox,  _so many_  comics, most of it from  _decades_  ago. He peeked inside the other two boxes as well: more of the same.

"Wow, he must  _really_  love this guy." Clint muttered, smirking. In the third box, in pride of place, were Phil's Captain America trading cards, as signed (very recently) by Captain America himself. Clint sniggered as he pushed the boxes back beneath Phil's bed, the glimmerings of an idea beginning to form.

He had a busy night ahead of him.

 

~ AV ~ AV ~ AV ~

 

Clint sidled up to Thor (which was incredibly conspicuous, but equally fun to do) and nudged him. Of course, being a huge muscle-bound  _God_ , he didn't notice. Clint waved his hand in front of Thor's face, which got his attention. Eventually.

"Hey, big guy!" Clint said, smirking. "Could you do me a favour?"

Thor's brow wrinkled. He ran a hand through his hair (and  _dammit,_  it looked like it was straight out of a Loreal advert for chrissakes!) and thought for a few seconds. "Not if it has anything to do with elephants," he said, after what felt like an age. "Or balloons. The son of Coul was very specific about that, after what happened last time." 

Clint winced. He  _remembered_  that one - Tony had an even more suspect sense of humor than  _he_ did. Especially when it came to incredibly ignorant norse gods. Thor was also incredibly gullible, lucky for him...

"No, nothing to do with elephants or balloons, Thor," Clint told him reassuringly. "It was just that Tony and I thought that... well, we don't really like this room very much, so we thought we'd demolish it and replace it with a hotdog bar." thor's eyes lit up at the thought of hotdogs and Clint smirked. "And we thought that you could give us a hand with the actual demolition bit, you know. A few swings of the hammer, some smashing."

Thor grinned, nodding eagerly. "I will see to it immediately!" he told Clint, raising the hammer. 

He grinned, patting Thor on the back. "Great, big man! I'll just go and tell Tony, and you get on with smashing stuff." he assured him, then legged it away from the room as fast as he could, fingers pressed in his ears. Behind him came the sounds of destruction, noisy as hell. SHIELD staff poured out into the corridors to find out what the hell was going on, and Clint saw Coulson striding towards the room, his face composed as always. Clint crept into his room and started having his revenge.

 

~ AV ~ AV ~ AV ~

 

 

Coulson came back into his room, pinching his brow and shaking his head woefully. Thor had, apparently, thought that they should destroy the room to make way for  _hotdogs,_  of all things. Or at least, that whas what they'd been able to make out from the adrenaline-crazed God. He froze as he entered the room and saw the carnage laid out before him.

The boxes filled with Captain America merchandise had been pulled out and emptied, their contents nowhere in sight. What  _was_ visible was a large pile of glowing embers and ash, made of what looked like charred paper and plastic. His stomach dropped as he realised what must have happened to the stuff he'd been so careful with - some of it was in  _mint condition!_  Well, it had been. It was all burnt now.

He frowned at a pile of pictures on the bed, and he picked them up to look at them. They all showed Clint with his Captain America stuff, reading it, playing with it,  _wearing it_ , in some cases, and all grinning at the camera evilly. The last picture had a note stuck to it, with one word written on it: 

_REVENGE_

The last picture had Clint standing next to a large bonfire and smirking indiscriminately. Coulson's face could have frozen blood to ice at this point, pure hate radiating from it. He took a deep breath and put all of his fury into one rage filled shout:

" _BARTON!!!!"_

  
~ AV ~ AV ~ AV ~

 

Clint gagged, trying to throw off the choke hold that Coulson had him in without hurting him too badly. Unfortunately, it seemed as though despite appearances Coulson could actually hold his own in a fight. 

"You  _bastard_!" Coulson hissed, tightening his hold fractionally. "What the  _hell_  did you need to do that for? Some of that stuff was thirty years old! _Mint condition!_ "

Clint managed to repress his smirk (something to do with the lack of oxygen) and gasped out "Didn't..."

Coulson frowned, loosening his hold slightly. "Didn't? Didn't what?"

"Didn't burn the stuff," Clint replied, smiling slightly. 

Coulson frowned at him in confusion, stepping backwards, though still eyeing him dangerously. "Where is it then?"

Clint smirked, though he stopped once he saw the look on Coulson's face and cleared his throat. "They're in one of the laundry cupboards on the basement floor. I put them there for safekeeping, burnt some books and a few old videos instead." he told him.

Coulson paused only to glare at him again, sliding a finger across his throat in a manner that made his intent quite clear, before running off down the corridor to try and find his precious Captain America contraband. "Watch your back, Agent Barton!" he called over his shoulder. "You'd better stay on your guard, or you'll end up in trouble."

Clint simply smirked and walked off, whistling cheerily. Mission successful. He wondered if he should have told Coulson about the Pictures of all the merchandise that he'd posted on Steve's facebook page and his own?

Nah...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really happy with this one, but I have to get it out of the way to write the next one, so... maybe I'll edit it at some point. :/


	5. Chapter 5

Coulson didn't seethe. (Though he could have if he'd wanted to.) He didn't fume. (Although he certainly had reason to, _especially_ after Clint put those pictures on facebook. Facebook.) He especially didn't plot. (The whole thing had become a PR nightmare. And it was _incredibly_ unprofessional.) What he did do was to sit down and carefully plan his first move in the competition.

Up until now, Phil hadn't been taking the Agents' little game at all seriously. He'd viewed it as little more than an annoyance at worst, maybe something to keep the Agents occupied. But now Clint had dared to meddle with his most prized possessions... well. They couldn't have that. The agents would have to be put into their place, before something worse happened. The fact that it was payback was merely an added bonus, and a great motivator...

 

~ AV ~ AV ~ AV ~

 

Coulson sat in a chair at his desk, mulling over a few ways in which to get back at the two Agents who had been causing him so much grief recently. He'd contemplated hitting Clint where it would hurt him the most - his precious bow - but no. That would likely only serve to encourage Agent Romanov in her misbehaviour, and that wouldn't do at all.The two agents had to be put back into their place as soon as possible - Phil knew from experience that (with Clint, at least) insubordination would quickly turn into something much more serious if he was given enough leash. Even to the point of rebellion.

No, seriously.

Clint had gone down in SHIELD legend for two reasons. The first was the whole Fury/Pirate debacle, which had been one to remember. Or try very hard to forget, depending on where you had been at the time. Nobody on the Helicarrier had been able to look at a parrot for a month without giggling. Which was very unprofessional, especially when you were a 6"6 thug. Giggling was not part of the job description, and usually failed to intimidate _anybody_.

The second reason was that time when Clint had gotten completely drunk and attempted to stage a coup in SHIELD He'd nearly succeeded, too - it was a little worrying how many of the other Agents had supported his attempt to take over. However, apparently nearly all of them had been even more 'sloshed' than Barton, which had been quite an achievement. So, rebellion was definitely in Barton's repertoire.

So, he got back to planning. Or at least, he would have, if whoever that was outside would just stop screaming... oh. _Screaming._ He stood, making his way out into the hallway and towards the source of the commotion. This was, as it turned out, completely unneccessary, as the source of the commotion was moving towards him at a decent rate.

What it turned out to be was Tony Stark and one of his many robots (seriously, he had issues with real people...), being chased by a lawnmower.

Which also happened to be murderous. And levitating. But, hey, nothing unusual about that, right? Worryingly enough, Coulson found that he actually wasn't surprised by _any_ part of this insane situation whatsoever. Evidently time to check himself into an asylum, then.

Coulson pulled an EMP device out of his pocket (standard SHIELD issue when dealing with Tony Stark) and was about to deploy it when Bruce appeared as if from nowhere and batted it out of his hand. "You set that off, you might as well just shoot him." he told the Agent. "Tony Stark runs on batteries, remember? You'd short out the ARC reactor."

Coulson frowned, picking the device back up and stowing it in his pocket. "So what do we do, then? Amusing as it is to watch Stark running around like a headless chicken, I think that it might be better if we didn't let him get killed by a lawnmower. That kind of thing is bad for morale. And it just looks _silly_ on the obituary."

Bruce cleared his throat. "Alpha, Romeo, Charlie Three," he said clearly. The effect was instantaneous - the little robot following at Tony's heels collapsed instantly to the floor. The lawnmower exploded. When the smoke had cleared, Tony was kneeling by Sherrinford's side.

"What did you do to him?" he demanded, glaring at the two of them.

Bruce rolled his eyes. "It's just the deactivation code that JARVIS programs into all of your _really_ stupid invention ideas," he told him. "and it's a good thing that he did, too," he added, looking pointedly at the remains of the evil-killer-levitating-lawnmower- _thing_.

Tony pressed a button on Sherrinford's metal plated underbelly, smiling as the bot's eyes lit up and he hummed back into life. The robot immediately started chasing its own tail manically."You know," he said absentmindedly, "Clarabelle might have been really useful back at the manison, if I just got rid of the homicidal tendencies..."

The two stared at him. "... Clarabelle?" asked Bruce, face carefully blank. Tony raised an eyebrow. "My great grandmother's name. She looks quite a lot like her. Even acts like her, to be frank. Anyway, it's a nice name. I like it." He glared at them as if daring him to dispute the 'niceness' of his great-grandmother's name. Neither of them decided to go there.  

Coulson cleared his throat. "Well, if that's everything, then perhaps you could avoid getting killed by a lawnmower for the next... oh, call it a day or so? If that's not too much to ask?" He gave them an insincere smile and turned to go back, luckily avoiding seeing Tony stick his tongue out at him mutinously. He didn't want to have to tase the genius again - though he used the term 'genius' cautiously - as it was just annoying to have to clean the drool up later.

As he went, Tony kept grumbling about various things, up to and including "when I'm ruling the world...", though that wasn't really anything to be worried about - Tony had been threatening to become a supervillain for _years_ , and the planet had yet to welcome him as its supreme ruler. No, what stood out to him was Tony musing "I wonder if she'd be less evil if I painted her pink? I mean, she'd certainly look more like grandma, _that's_ for sure..."

Coulson blinked as an idea clicked quietly into place. Oh. Pink... that could actually work... He grinned, sharklike and evil. In a good way, obviously.

 

~ AV ~ AV ~ AV ~

 

Coulson clasped the chemical-soaked handkerchief onto Clint's mouth, waiting until the sleeping agent went completely limp before sprining into action and beginning his plan. He didn't exactly want to drug Barton, but... here unprofessional thoughts of how easily he could land a few puches on Barton sprang into his head. and were quickly removed before they could be put into action. Or possibly professional thoughts - it all depended on the profession, really. God, that thought was worthy of Stark, really, though he hadn't meant it in that way. Better stop thinking altogether, before even worse thoughts entered his mind, involving tatoos and how many he could do on Clint before he woke up...

Grinning only slightly, he got to work on his plan.

 

~ AV ~ AV ~ AV ~

 

Coulson waited gleefully (at least, on the inside,) for the two agents' reaction to his move in their little game. He heard footsteps coming down the corridor into the canteen and grinned, getting ready...

"Hey, Coulson!" Clint yelled brightly, coming into the room. Natasha followed behind him. The rest of the canteen froze, trying desperately not to laugh at the two most deadly people in the facility: both were dressed in their normal clothes, which had been dyed bright pink. Their hair, conversely, had been dyed a bright shade of orange that clashed horribly, and even clint's bow had pink ribbons tied to it. Coulson smirked. One point to Phil.

Then Clint and Natasha walked right past him, laughing. Natasha turned back to look at him and raised an eyebrow. "What is it, exactly, that you think is so bad about pink?" she asked.

Coulson blinked twice before finding his voice. "But... you're scary people!" he blurted out, confused. "You kill people _on your days off!_ "

Natasha smirked. "Well, yes. I still like pink, though. It's a girl thing, some kind of psychological left-over from when I was seven."

"But... what about Clint?" he tried.

"Oh, I like pink, too!" Clint told him, smiling brightly with a 'fuck-you, I can be girly if I want to' face on him. Or perhaps that was just Coulson thinking that.

Natasha smirked. "Yeah, nobody's... quite sure about Clint, but he's just as screwed up as everyone else in this team. Say what you will, but he likes pink, feathers, and watching ballet."

Coulson blinked again, a wave of bewilderment rising up in him. "seriously?" he asked, hoping the answer would be a resounding 'no, we're just screwing with you as revenge for turning us pink, you bastard'.

Natasha nodded, smirking. Again. "Yeah... anyway, we decided that since we quite liked the look - pink is actually fashionable this season for once - we might as well keep it for a while. See how the press reacted. Clint's got five dollars against Thor on accusations of gayness, whereas Steve's betting that they won't mention it because Fury covered it up. Any bets? No? Well, we'll see you around, then." The two of them turned and walked out.

An agent nudged Coulson's shoulder. "Phil, you're going to have to try harder than that if you want to win!"

Coulson left, mind ticking over. Fine then - he _would._


	6. Chapter 6

Coulson was seriously irritated by this point - he just wasn't any good at playing practical jokes on people, preferring to go the route which didn't require a sense of humour for it to work. Tasering, for example. That was fun. Well, not quite so much for the other party, but who cared about them? What could he do to get the Agents back, after his last attempt had failed so miserably?

Maybe he could utilise his training in the CIA, before he'd joined SHIELD? He'd been part of a department that specialised in chemical warfare, and although he had been in a strictly managerial capacity, he'd picked a few things up. He still had some contacts there, actually. Maybe they could give him a hand with this. In fact, he had just the idea...

 

~ AV ~ AV ~ AV ~

 

Tony took a sip of his fifth coffee that morning, peering blearily at the designs for the sixth-gen StarkPhone that he'd been trying to debug for nearly an hour and a half. So far he'd found nothing catastrophic whatsoever, aside from a few minor glitches, which was worrying him a lot. This would normally be fine with any piece of tech that Tony had designed - _expected_ , even* - but it was a little less usual when you took into consideration the fact that he'd actually drawn up those plans while sleepwalking after one too many scotches. Or possibly three too many, he'd lost count after a while. Anyway, there was no way that these plans could be as good as they seemed, was there? Maybe he should sleep-engineer more often if it got results _this_ good... Though god knew it freaked out the rest of the team when they saw him wandering around with his eyes closed at 3am in the morning and yet somehow avoiding bumping into anything.

Bruce had told him that it was "Just creepy, Tony. Get a damned lock on your door." Apparently he was more grumpy than usual when he'd been kept up by a sleepwalking genius. (And yes, he _was_ a genius)

Coffee number six went down, followed by seven and eight in quick succession. Coulson frowned slightly from his vantage point. It wouldn't do for Tony to drink too much of the coffee, considering what he'd put in it: a cocktail of drugs that rendered the victim incredibly suggestible, which should lead to a decent evening's entertainment. And revenge of course, as well as some embarrassment for Clint and Natasha. So, naturally, he'd decided to test them out on the world's biggest pain-in-the-ass: Tony Stark. That was, if the man would stop _drinking_ the damn stuff by the litre. Coulson had no idea what an overdose would do to him, other than being non-fatal, and (in all likelihood) fairly amusing.

Tony's sleep-fuddled taste buds finally noticed that _Hey, what's up with this coffee?_  and registered the slightly syrupy taste that tainted his espresso. He stared at his cup for a second and groaned. "Oh, not _again_ , this is just what happened _last time_." he blinked, his head feeling incredibly fuzzy all of a sudden. His vision went blurry and he looked back down at his coffee cup and blanched. Spiders were crawling out of the cup in droves, huge hairy ones. He squealed and dropped the cup, trying to bat away the tarantulas climbing up his arms, but his eyes felt so _heavy..._

Coulson scowled as Tony crumpled to the floor, unconscious. "Stupid idiot," he muttered. "Eight cups of coffee? It's a miracle he isn't actually vibrating throughout the day..." he rolled his eyes and moved over to look at the recumbent figure. Stark snored quietly, putting paid to any slight fears about 'negative side effects' that Coulson may or may not have been told about. He'd be fine.

So much for testing it on someone else before the main event, though. Anyway, as long as the agents didn't drink too much, like the idiot snoring at his feet, they'd be fine.

Maybe they'd even end the experience _conscious_ , this time.

 

~ AV ~ AV ~ AV ~

 

Coulson busied himself making tea in the kitchen. Tony was still snoring in his bed as he waited for the effects of the drug to wear off, and everything was ready. Clint and Natasha walked into the room together ( _again_? There _had_ to be something going on there...). Clint went to make them both some cereal, and Natasha headed straight towards the coffee pot. Phil smirked gently as he leant over his mug of tea. Thor came over and stole one of the mugs of coffee Natasha had just poured out, grinning cheerfully at her raised eyebrow (James Bond, eat your heart out) and giving her his best and most winning smile. Natasha, apparently impervious to the puppy dog eyes of a certain thunder god, simply rolled her eyes and poured out another mug, handing it to Clint, who downed it in a single gulp. Coulson waited for the drug to take effect, practically shivering in anticipation.

Sure enough, a few minutes later Clint shot to his feet with a yelp, staring in horror at the sugar bowl. "Sp... _Spiders_!!" he blurted out, springing hastily away.

Natasha blinked in confusion, and Thor moved to his side, concerned. "SHIELD brother? What ails you, my friend? There are no spiders there."

"Yes there are! They're _big,_ they're _hairy_ , they've got 'ORRIBLE teeth, and they're _**GLOWING!!!**_ "

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "And what really worries me is that this isn't even the _first_ time I've heard that particular set of words. _Or_ the tenth. Clint, there's _nothing there_." she froze. "What the... oh... oh, _HELL!"_ she jumped backwards, pulling out her knife from its sheath. "They're _hideous!"_

Thor frowned. "Is this some trickery, some magic cast by my brother...?" his eyes widened. "Oh." he too began staring at the spiders that only they could see. "This is... not usual on Midgard?"

"No!" yelled Clint. He paused. "Well, actually, I tell a lie. There was that time with the radioactive spiders, and the stupid kid who called himself ' _Spiderman_ '. Idiot. And there was the time when..." he paused and seemed to remember what was going on. "It's not usual, no. _Urgh!"_ he shrank back again.

Coulson chuckled, smirking shamelessly. This was just too good for words, really. He pulled out a video camera and started recording the agents jumping up and down, trying to squash the horde of invisible (and indeed, non-existent) arachnids.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end. He stood, placed the camera - still recording - on the table and clapped his hands three times. "Stop," he told them. The heroes complied immediately, ceasing their antics. Coulson sniggered, then cleared his throat. What should he have them do first? How about... well, it was fairly obvious, but still funny. "Act like a chicken," he told them, smirking.

The three immediately started squawking and flapping their arms in true comic fashion, prancing ridiculously around the room. Coulson enjoyed the spectacle for a few moments before clapping his hands again. "Ok, stop. Now do the Macarena."

Clint and Natasha immediately started dancing, but Thor simply looked confused for a moment and then slowly raised his hand. "Yes?" snapped Coulson.

"What... what is a Macarena?" Thor enquired politely.

There was only one thing Coulson could do: he facepalmed. "It's... it's a pop culture reference," he managed. How could he _not know...?_ It was... everyone knew the Macarena, for chrissakes! "Just... do what the other two are doing."

Thor brightened up and started dancing along to the music that apparently nobody else could hear. Terribly. It wasn't just that he was learning the dance as he went, the Asgardian had no sense of rhythm or timing... he was _butchering_ it.

It was hilarious.

Coulson spent a happy hour giving the three as many orders as he could think of, from singing the Balamory theme tune in a rousing trio to pretending to be director fury and storming around the room. And juggling eggs, because Thor... couldn't. At all.

Tony stumbled into the room, bleary eyed, and stopped dead in his tracks. He stared at the three others, who were all walking around on their hands and humming the star spangled banner (just _because_ ).  He blinked, then looked over at Coulson, who was sat at the kitchen table, camera still recording, an expression close to bliss on his face as the heroes started to do the Cancan. "Is this... is this what you did to me?" he asked.

Coulson hesitated, then... "Yep," he admitted.

Tony seemed to digest this news for a moment, then nodded. "Ok then. Can I have a go?"

Coulson blinked in surprise. "Uh... sure?" he replied, gesturing towards the three heroes.

Tony grinned, rubbing his hands together in glee. "Great! Ok then... on your knees and start worshipping me, all three of you. He smirked evilly at Coulson. "Hey, just because I'm narcissistic doesn't mean that I don't enjoy the occasional ego boost, yeah? Plus we have this on video, so..." he gestured to the camera and waved at the lens. "Hi there, all you lovely people watching us!” he paused. “It's also nice to have someone other than myself or my robots letting me know how awesome I am."

Coulson laughed at the sight of Clint and the others all prostrate before Tony Stark, lauding him and honouring him. _God,_ he thought,this was trick going to take some topping.

Tony stared. "oh, god... you can smile? I thought your face was just... I dunno, fixed in that bland expression permanently. You can _laugh!"_

"Uh... what's going on?" Clint asked, standing up. He looked down at Natasha and Thor, then back up at Coulson and Tony.

Tony looked over at Phil. "Run?" he suggested, grabbing the camera.

"...Yeah, good idea," Coulson told him, and the two of them legged it out the door.

Clint's yell echoed down the corridor (which incidentally scared three junior officers, woke up Bruce and caused three pigeons to fly away***). "COULSON!!!"

 

_The chicken dance, in all its glory..._

 

 

The ensuing youtube clip got over 100,000 hits. In its first day. Three days later it was removed, possibly due to the fact that Tony Stark had been forced at arrow point to hack into Coulson's account. But that's not important, is it?

He didn't manage to remove the copies spread all over the internet, though. Especially not the ones set to music...

 

 

 

*Brilliance was something that was expected of Tony Stark, and he certainly delivered. Nearly every one of his pieces was a technological marvel, making breakthroughs that most designers could only dream of. The ones that weren't quite so brilliant tended to explode, although up until recently that had been part of the design plan in the first place.** These ones just had a slightly more... random element as to when they exploded. Or whom they exploded on.

**There was only so much you could do to create a masterpiece of science and technology when your instructions had been to 'make it blow up,' even when you were Tony Stark.

*** This is of no significance whatsoever. The author simply feels like including it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which someone wins the contest and Fury has to issue death threats.  
> These two events may be linked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have absolutely no excuse for this - it wasn't even meant to happen, then it did _because reasons_ and I'm so sorry...

Bruce slumped, boneless, in an armchair, completely worn out. Tony was looking considerably mnore cheerful, tinkering with some circuits and stroking Sherrinford's steel plating absentmindedly; aided by around 5 chocolate bars, 1 red bull and 7 cups of coffee. If you looked carefully then you could watch him vibrating ever so slightly.

Sherrinford nudged his hand with his head, beeping and whirring affectionately as Tony resumed stroking him. Tony chuckled gently at his robot's antics as he he curled up on his creator's lap and went into sleep mode, still whirring gently in an electronic purr.

Phil walked into the room, along with Steve, both of them looking disgustingly fresh, as if they'd just been taken out of his official packaging. Bastards. Tony glared at them, wiping the motor oil off his fingers and onto his ACDC T-shirt, and pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

"How do you manage to stay looking so fresh?" he grumbled, stomping over to them. "It's 35 degrees out there, and 25 in here!" Neither man responded. "Uh... guys...?" hewaved a hand in front of Steve's face. "Capsicle, you're freakin' me out a little now."

"...Fury...he..." Coulson managed, eyes glazed and voice shaking a little, then he shook his head mutely.

"Fury? What did he do to you?" Tony asked, but the pair merely shook heir heads, flopping down into an armchair each.

Fury walked in.

No, he _skipped_ in. Wearing a tutu. Not to mention the feather boa, as well as some high heels. And all of these in a truly _alarming_ shade of pink that actually hurt to look at.

Even his _eyepatch_ was pink, which was what convinced Tony that he had either fallen through a portal into some bizarre universe where fury was a transvestite; he'd finally gone insane; or maybe he'd simply hit his head, been taken to hospital. and this was a hallucination brought on by the sleepy pills he'd been given. Worryingly enough, he'd been in every single one of those situations at least 3 times. In the last _year._ God, he'd hate to have to deal with his life insurance paperwork. Did he even have life insurance? Anyway...

Tony stared, then tried to back slowly away. Unfortunately, he stumbled into Clint. They both stared as Fury walk-- no, he _flounced_  towards them, pulling on a huge pair of sunglasses. The Director pouted ( _Pouted,_ and _OhGodthisisitI'velostitjustkillmenow...)_  at them over the rim of the shades.

"What is _wrong_ with this place?" Fury piped up in a childish falsetto, scowling. "There are no flowers, unicorns or sparkles _anywhere._ Some fairyland _this_ turned out to be!"

And with that he pulled 5 huge bunches of flowers seemingly out of nowhere - like some bizarre, one eyed (and presumably transvestite) conjuror - putting them carefuly into a large vase that Tony would swear blind had not been there a moment ago. Fury then soemly handed each man a stuffed toy unicorn, placing one on the still-slumbering Bruce's lap. Then, as the final touch, he pulledsome packets out of his pockets and sprinkled all of them liberally with pink glitter.

Tony's body apparently decided that as his mind had evidently shut down out of self preservation and therefore the body could bloody well do what it liked. Fortunately, the mind managed to regain control before it started cracking up. Laughing at Fury, even when he'd apparently acquired the mentality of a 7 year old girl, was punishable by death. At least, that's what was _implied._

That, of course, was when the note appeared, written on the floor in glitter:

**_I win ~ Loki_ **

Tony blinked in slow-dawning realisation, then grinned. Oh he'd _always_ wanted to do this... "Sorry about this, Director," he muttered, not meaning it all, and punched the tutu-clad man right between the eyes.

Fury blinked: once, twice, and his eye flashed away from electric blue to their normal brown. Then he grabbed Tony by the throat. "What the hell is going on here?!" he demanded, voice returned to normal.

"Uh... you're secretly a transvestite?" the smaller (much smaller, how hadn't he noticed that before?) man suggested, gasping for breath. "Not that that matters, we don't judge round here..."

Fury blinked, releasing Stark quickly as took in the tutu. "What the..?!"

"Loki, sir," Coulson interjected, snapping out of the fugue he'd been in. "Mind control. again."

Fury glared at all three of them. "If _any_ of you mentions this to _anyone,_ you'll find out exactly how long it takes for a person to reach maximum velocity when they're thrown off the helicarrier."

"About 17.5 seconds," muttered Tony. Fury glared. "Uh... I mean 'yes, Director, your wish is my command.' Our command. Thingy. Uh..."

" ** _GOOD._** " Fury growled, stalking out of the room.

There was a pregnant pause, and the room was silent. Then: "Uh... JARVIS? Please tell me you got that on tape?" Tony grinned.

 _"Of course, sir. Download to your personal server?"_ The AI suggested, unbearably smug.

"Definitely. God, I knew there was a damn good reason I programmed you to be such a snarky bastard." Tony told the AI gleefully.

" _Thank you, sir,_ " the AI replied, its smirk nearly tangible.

Bruce slowly opened his eyes and looked around in bewilderment at the flowers strewn about the room, then down at the unicorn toy in his lap. He shook his head and sneezed at the glitter snowstorm that flew out of it. "Uh... did I miss something?" he tried.

Ask as he might, Bruce never quite understood why the three of them cracked up at that. Then again, he didn't understand why Director Fury threw Iron Man off the Helicarrier two days later either. Just one of those things, he supposed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finished, everything is Loki's fault and I've started doodling tutu!fury in my notebooks.  
> My friends are deeply bemused, Tony's a smartarse and so is JARVIS.  
> The world is as it should be, so thank you for reading and goodnight.


End file.
